


Far Too Literal

by NebulousMistress



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bad Puns, Cecil's Fashion Sense, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sickfic, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 17,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5160413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos should have gotten his flu shot this year. Well, at least it wasn't chicken flu.</p><p>A rewrite and  expansion of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4919263/chapters/11596735">Swine Flu</a> from the fictober challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Aaaaaaah.....”

The sneeze never quite finished as Carlos dropped his not-a-pen and grabbed his face to hold it in. Instead there was a small noise, a tiny squeak that did nothing to offset the sudden pain in his sinuses.

Carlos shook his head to clear the pressure and popped his ears. One popped while the other just grew more pressurized. “Ow...”

“Go home, Carlos.”

Carlos glared at Rick as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His head didn't feel quite right, hadn't all day.

“We don't have anything planned for today and there's been no sign of unusual weirdness,” Rochelle added. “You, on the other hand, look like you're coming down with something.”

“It's just a cold,” Carlos allowed.

“And I don't want it,” Rochelle countered. “Out.”

Carlos grumbled and packed up for the day. The day that never quite finished.

The night wasn't much better. He lay on the couch while Cecil's voice serenaded him from the radio, a pillow clutched tightly under his head. He wasn't going to stoop to going to bed this early regardless of how bad he felt. His whole face hurt now as a bone-deep ache settled into his limbs.

He knew he should have gotten his flu shot this year. He'd just... been busy. Yeah, that was it, he'd been too busy to meander to the back of the Ralphs and get his municipally recommended flu shot, effective against chicken flu, swine flu, spanish flu, polynesian flu, and even dog flu. He'd never even heard of the dog flu in humans and the year prior he'd been made to sit through a lecture by the pharmacist about the great dog flu pandemic of 2004. He'd left with a sore arm that lasted a week, a craving for kalua pork and paella, and itchy ears.

He'd just never got around to it this year. And now he might be paying the price. He'd have Cecil check for a fever when he got home.

He was just too tired...

***

Carlos drifted towards wakefulness. He didn't want to, awake was where all the aching was and his face felt really weird. But there was a hand on his forehead and Cecil's voice but it sounded so far away...

He could hear Cecil's voice asking about flu shots, saying he had a fever, saying something about having to call this in.

Carlos rolled over, groaning as his joints complained. Something about being full of spikes and movement made them hurt. He didn't pay attention, not when he couldn't get comfortable on the sofa. It was too cold.

A blanket appeared out of nowhere, allowing Carlos something to burrow underneath.

He was still cold but he was able to fall back into sleep where at least the aching couldn't get to him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Consciousness came slowly.

The first thing Carlos noticed was the bed. He was in one. It wasn't usually a fact that felt important to notice but today it seemed like it should be. Odd.

Next thing he noticed was the pain. His face hurt. His hands hurt. His feet hurt. His hips and chest and back and basically everywhere he had joints hurt.

Urg.

Cold all over, check. Giant pile of blankets and one half naked man pinning him in bed, check. Burning eyes, check. Sinus headache, check. Stuffy nose, check.

The flu. Yep. Evidence pointed to the flu.

Great...

He gave it three days before he lost his voice, maybe shorter. And then the coughing and the nose goop and then the inevitable moment when Cecil caught his flu because how couldn't he. Cecil was draped over Carlos, using his legs and one arm to hold him in place while Cecil used his shoulders as a pillow.

Carlos groaned and tried to wiggle away. Nope, still pinned.

He kind of had to pee. “Cecil...” he whined.

Cecil held tighter in response.

“Cecil... I know you're awake... let me up...”

“No I'm not.” Cecil's voice was muffled by blankets and Carlos-pillow.

Carlos growled. It came out as more of a pitiful moan. He felt too heavy, too tired, too much like he had the flu to get Cecil to move. “Cecil... let me up...”

“No.”

This time the growl came out as a snort and an odd squeal. Wait, what?

Nooo... now was not the time for mystery. Now was the time for getting Cecil off of him so he could take care of business, get Cecil to make him some tea, and climb back into bed to defeat this flu with science.

Science...

Carlos smirked to himself before craning his head back, ignoring the pain in his spiky-feeling joints, and pouting in Cecil's general direction. “Cecil... do you think you could make some tea? Pleeeease?”

“So long as you don't get out of bed,” Cecil said.

“I make no promises but I'll get right back into bed when I'm done.”

Carlos felt lips pressed to the middle of his back and then the weight was gone. Finally. He crawled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

And almost immediately forgot why he was there as something was horribly wrong. “Cecil?” he called.

There was something wrong with his hands.

His first thought was 'no wonder my hands hurt.' That thought turned to quiet panic as he realized much more than his hands hurt. He sat down on the toilet and started an inventory.

His feet were weird. His toes seemed to have fused, two toes on each foot in an odd cloven pattern. They matched his hands fairly well, though at least he still had his thumbs. His nose felt weird, circular and slightly velvety. And his ears...

“CECIL!” he shouted.

Finally that brought some footsteps, though they sounded weird in his ringing, stuffed, _floppy_ ears. He fixed the empty doorway with a withering glare in preparation for Cecil's arrival.

It wasn't all that withering. Carlos could tell by how Cecil wasn't being withered. Not being withered at all, given how Cecil had a look on his face like he'd just heard Khoshekh had grandkittens or something. Carlos wasn't going for it. He didn't care how cute Cecil thought he was.

“What's going on?” Carlos demanded.

Cecil grinned, an innocent grin like he was trying to calm Carlos with his smile. It wasn't working. “You have swine flu,” he said.

Carlos' glare finally turned withering. A scowl blossomed, bringing with it a feral growl. Only in Night Vale...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that turned dark.

“Hello listeners.”

Carlos opened his eyes. He was back in bed, huddled in more blankets than he remembered ever owning and still he didn't really feel warm enough. The breath that puffed from his... snout? mouth? ugh, snout... felt like the heat billowing from a furnace. Must be a fever.

Ah, good. A fever would reduce his time to full recovery. So long as it wasn't too high...

Wait, was it too high? Why did it sound like Cecil was recording his radio show in the kitchen?

“The greater Night Vale medical community would like to urge you all to get your flu shots this year. This plea comes as part of the announcement of our first mandatory quarantine. Yes, Night Vale, I'm recording this show here at my kitchen table until further notice.”

Oh. That would be why. Carlos rolled over and snorted.

“Oh, don't worry about me, dear listeners, I'm fine. I got my mandatory flu shot on the first day they were made available, unlike some. But those 'some' are paying for it now. Carlos, my dear Carlos, has swine flu. Yes, listeners, a full blown case of it complete with ears, nose, trotters, and even a cute little tail. But don't worry. He's in bed all wrapped up like a pig in a blanket.”

Carlos could feel an ear twitch in protest. He groaned and tried to drag the blankets over his head. It wasn't easy.

“But seriously, listeners, there is no better protection against the annual scourge of transformative culling than the flu shot. We all remember what happened to Frank Chapman. Yes, listeners, that was a party to remember. And it was so kind of him to insist that his most unfortunate fate become the main course. Mmmm...”

Carlos refused to call the sound he just made a squeal. He absolutely refused. Just as he refused to believe the people of Night Vale would have eaten a flu victim just because he wanted it that way. Though worse had happened...

“Ah, you're awake.”

Carlos sat up in bed, the blankets falling to his lap. “Did you really eat a flu victim?” he asked.

Cecil looked oddly sheepish, looking down at his feet with his hands behind his back. Carlos wasn't buying it. He flipped his ears forward and snorted.

“Well it was his last wish,” Cecil said. “And you know how sacred last wishes are. That and he really was terrified of having to live life as a pig. So we really were just throwing the party he would have wanted. And he was there. The whole time he was right there, his head as the centerpiece complete with an apple in his mouth. Carlos, are you all right?”

Carlos had the blankets pulled up to his snout, eyes wide and scared, ears back.

“Oh Carlos...” Cecil sat down on the bed. “You'll be okay. I'm sure of it.”

“I'm turning into a pig,” Carlos whispered.

“Oh no of course not! Well, maybe you will but the chances are only something like one in twenty. Most people recover entirely. Only a few ever have permanent changes.”

“So I have a five percent change of turning into a pig, great,” Carlos said, voice carefully level. His head hurt too much for the kind of screaming he really wanted to do. That and he knew it would turn out to be squealing and he didn't think he could handle that type of noise coming from his throat right now.

“But you were vaccinated last year so it probably won't be that bad. I bet you won't even have any permanent changes. But even if you do that'll be okay. Your ears are cute and you still have thumbs. Tell you what. After I finish recording for today's broadcast I'll get an intern to go find some of those brochures the pharmacy has about swine flu.”

Carlos wasn't feeling any better. All of his forced transformations in Night Vale had been temporary, transient. There was never any threat of a permanent loss of anything. It wasn't his humanity he feared losing, but his voice, his hands, science, Cecil...

No. He would be fine. A scientist was always fine. Even when that scientist had big ears and a piggy nose.

He didn't feel fine.

“Okay,” he said. “But leave the door open? I want to hear your voice.”

Cecil patted Carlos' feet through the blankets before leaning over and kissing his wide round nose. The weirdness left Carlos wiggling his snout while tiny oinks leaked out. Cecil smiled and kissed him again. “See? You're cute no matter what.”

Carlos blushed, still trying to muffle his grunting oinks.

“I won't be long. Try to get some rest.”

Cecil left, leaving the door wide open as promised. Carlos laid back down on the bed, still worried. They had  _eaten_ someone...

He looked at his hands, his trotters, examining them as best he could. He didn't want to imagine having these forever. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that my flu is getting better I can poke Carlos more. Or pull his tail...

“PIGS IN SPAAAAAAAAA--”

Click.

“Ride the pig, Gir!”

Click.

“When he was a young warthog.” “When I was a young waaartHOOOOOOOO--”

Click.

“--one of the largest collections of Entelodont bones in the history of North America. So many that they dubbed the site the 'Big Pig Dig'.”

Click.

“--the Terminator Pig.”

Click.

Ugh.

All the time it took to balance the remote with one trotter while pressing the buttons with another was not worth this. Even the television was mocking him.

Carlos dropped the remote on the coffee table and flopped back down on the couch. He dug lazily at the blankets, not really getting anywhere, before giving up and rooting under them with his nose.

Ah, there.

He snorted at the warmth, huddling with a pillow. This quarantine wasn't so bad. Sure his hands were compromised and his nose was all weird and his ears flopped everywhere but the actual flu part of it wasn't the worst he'd ever had. And Cecil did like to play with his tail.

At least no one else could see him like this.

“Hi, boss!”

Carlos' ears fell back. Oh no. Oh hell no... He was under quarantine! There was no way...

He carefully looked over the edge of the couch toward the front door.

No.

Oh please no.

Dave, Rick and Rochelle were there, gloved, masked, and gowned in personal protective gear. They looked like a ragtag group of surgeons missing their hairnets. Worse, Cecil was letting them in.

“Carlos!” Cecil called. “Your scientists got approval from the medical community to come check on you! For science and all.”

Carlos snorted and rooted back under the blankets. Maybe they wouldn't find him here...

“Oh my god, Cecil, you were right!” Carlos felt a tug on his tail. He flicked it to try and shoo the offending hand away. “His tail is so cute.”

Carlos growled. The blanket was lifted off of him, leaving him on the couch in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. He sat up, crossed his arms, and pouted. “Everybody already knows, _Cecil_ , do they really have to see?”

Cecil made the effort to look like he had no idea what Carlos was talking about. As if he hadn't been giving the town a detailed scene of Carlos' current state at every opportune recording and several inopportune ones.

“Oh, relax, we've seen weirder,” Rochelle said. Carlos squeaked and shook his head as he realized she had grabbed one of his ears and was shining a penlight inside.

“How are you at walking?” Rick asked. “I mean, it's hard to examine you on the couch.”

Carlos squealed and waved his trotters at Rochelle to keep her from grabbing his ears again. “Ugh! Fine. We can do this in the... hmmm...”

“You can use the bedroom,” Cecil suggested. “There's more than enough room to move around.”

Carlos blushed.

“Okay, fine, good, let's go!” Rochelle grabbed Carlos' wrists and dragged him off the couch.

“And no reporting on this!” Carlos shouted before the door closed.

***

“He's reporting on this isn't he,” Carlos grumbled. He was stuck sitting on his own bed as Rick prodded his feet, as Rochelle kept shining things in his ears, and Dave stood in the corner going 'hmmmm'.

“No idea,” Rochelle admitted. “You've probably got better hearing than we do at this point. Man, I wish I had headphones that would go over these satellite dishes on your head, then we could get a real hearing test done.”

“I still have the flu, my ears are full of pressure.”

“Point. How about scent? How's your sense of smell?”

Carlos snorted at her. Some of that snort was not caused by the pig snout, some was simply due to stuffed sinuses. “I'm not sure I want my sense of smell to get better,” he said.

“Why not? Imagine what you'd be able to smell.”

“If he can smell things real well that means the flu's fading but the changes aren't,” Dave said.

“Exactly,” Carlos agreed.

“Well, you don't have the two stabilizing pads behind your main hooves so I'd say you're less likely to fully change,” Rick said as he kept manipulating Carlos' feet like they were the pads of a bored dog. “Though if you do you'll be more susceptible to arthritis in the ankle.”

“Great...”

“But the worst part to consider is the fact that you can't shoe a cloven hoof,” Rick continued. “So you really shouldn't be walking around on artificial surfaces. If you have to, try carpet or that fuzzy moss in the lab bathroom. But asphalt is iffy, concrete is completely out, and stone is just bad. That is, if you keep these permanently which I don't think you will.”

“You fill me with confidence,” Carlos said, deadpanned.

Rochelle snatched some brochures from Dave's pocket, ignoring how his 'hmmmmm's were replaced with a sudden 'hey!' She unfolded one and tried to hand it to Carlos. After a moment of fumbling she laid it out on the bed. It was a swine flu pamphlet from the Ralphs. There was the usual stuff about how the flu shot was the best method of protection and how to avoid catching the flu by hand-washing, cough hygiene, and avoiding unlicensed pork products. There was also a list of symptoms which included physical transformations in addition to the more traditional flu symptoms.

“Yeah, I kind of figured this one,” Carlos said, gesturing at the symptom list by stomping his trotter on it.

“Read more, piggy,” Rochelle said, pointing further.

Carlos found the statistics. Apparently about one third of all sufferers never had symptoms other than the standard flu. Great, so he was part of the lucky two-thirds. The total transformation rate was estimated to be 5% but it was not uncommon (15-20%) for the flu-like symptoms to fade quickly while the transformation could take...

“... _months_ to reverse?!” Carlos demanded.

“Apparently last year was a big spanish flu year,” Rochelle said. “And unfortunately that's where all the good food came from.”

Carlos' ears dropped in realization. “But... the food was good until May...” His jaw dropped as the thought ran rampant through his head.

“Hey, did you know you have tusks?” Dave asked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beat all of my flus with copious amounts of wine, sleeping, and induced fevers. I heartily recommend it.

A horrible piercing shriek broke the silence of the room.

That had been happening a lot today. Carlos was sitting on the coffee table, couch pushed off to the side of the room. Cecil sat upon it, watching as the nurse sent over from the Night Vale Quarantine Board gave Carlos an examination.

Carlos had never seen a nurse like this before. First of all he'd never seen the tiny dress and hat outside of a fetish video. But this nurse was also blood-spattered, had her face wrapped entirely in bandages, hands that twisted into claws, and communicated only through ear-piercing shrieks.

Still, she seemed nice.

She held a tongue depressor up to his snout and shrieked.

Carlos opened his mouth with the requisite “ahhh”.

She checked his ears, his throat, his eyes. She held out a q-tip and shrieked before sticking it up his nose. She examined his trotters, checked his temperature, collected her q-tip and put it in a sample bag, all while screaming like the damned.

“She asked you if you have any questions,” Cecil said, sounding oddly... insulted?

Carlos looked confused. “Oh. Um... Well, yes, could you give me any idea how long this might last?” He never heard any sort of question from this 'nurse' but sure.

The nurse shrieked, then cocked her head at him. She seemed to waiting for a response.

“She said that depends on what the tests say,” Cecil translated. He gave Carlos a confused look. “Wait, you don't understand her?”

“You do?” Carlos asked.

The nurse gave a long-suffering sigh before slumping slightly and pulling a pad of paper from her bosom. She started scratching words onto it with a single long fingernail.

“I'm sorry,” Carlos said. “I really don't seem to understand you. But that happens a lot in town. Less than it used to but it still happens.” He was rambling a bit but Cecil was making him feel self-conscious. Even more so than the ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering when his hair had started growing down his spine.

She tore off the page and handed it to Cecil. Cecil looked it over and nodded. “We'll get on this right away,” he promised as she started packing up her things into her house-call bag.

She shrieked at him, a scream that looked like it promised a quick and painful death but that Cecil took as friendly banter. “Oh, of course I will,” he said. “But you know these things take time. More time I think than anyone is truly comfortable with. And what is time, anyway, but a small-minded attempt to put our own meager constraints on the uncaring world?”

The nurse shrieked, nodding. She shook his hand and walked out, legs twisted in a pigeon-toed parody of bipedality even as she balanced expertly on strange spiky heels.

Carlos looked on at the exchange with a confused sense of weird. Somehow that seemed stranger than even the post office.

“No wonder you don't go to the doctor,” Cecil said. “You wouldn't understand them if you did.”

“They all sound like that?” Carlos asked.

“Most of them.”

Carlos stared incredulously at the door as it closed.

“She wrote a note for you,” Cecil continued, reading the page. “'Your strain of swine flu is known to be drug resistant.'”

“Joy.”

“'Therefore the only course of action is supportive care. Below are a few suggestions.' Oh, it's a prescription.” Cecil read through the list. “Man, I wish I had swine flu.”

Carlos looked at him funny. The ears did not help.

“She suggests you drink three beers a day for the first week, down to one a day until the symptoms are gone or until March, whichever comes first.”

“What?!”

“'And none of that light beer swill, that's just barley soda',” Cecil continued. “'I mean grainy unfiltered beer. You need the trace minerals and you need to mellow out a bit. Check with Teddy Williams, I hear he has a private stock. Also, hot wings are good for keeping your tusks ground down, just be sure to take your time crunching the bones.'”

“This is the weirdest prescription ever,” Carlos groaned.

“I've had weirder,” Cecil said.

Carlos did not doubt it. Still, grainy beer? He wasn't sure if he could take that seriously.

***

The note came in the form of a sneeze. Specifically the spider plant near the door sneezed and spat out a piece of paper along with a pair of confused tarantulas. Cecil shooed the tarantulas outside to begin their lives as free spiders as he picked up the note.

Ah. Good news. Good news indeed.

Carlos was in the kitchen trying to figure out how to hold a wooden spoon so he could take back his kitchen.

“Good news, my dear Carlos,” Cecil said, leaning on the doorway. “Quarantine is lifted.”

Carlos dropped the spoon. “What?”

“You're not contagious anymore so there's no reason to--”

Carlos cut him off by ambushing him in a hug and lifting him off the ground, laughing gleefully. He was getting better! Soon he wouldn't have swine flu anymore!

Wait...

He put Cecil down, his mood starting to fall. “Does it say anything about the... other symptoms?” he asked.

Cecil scanned the note. He closed one eye and held it out at arms length, turning it upside down. He twisted his own head until he was looking fairly upside down at it. Ah, there it was. Oh.

“They don't know,” Cecil admitted. “Not really. But they give an estimate of six to... um... all of the weeks.”

“What?!” Carlos grabbed at the paper before realizing and trying to read over Cecil's shoulder. It was hard to make out but if he closed one eye and leaned the other way...

Oh.

“It might not be permanent?” Cecil said, trying to be comforting.

Carlos leaned his head against Cecil's shoulder for a moment, sighing deeply before he retreated to the bedroom. The door closed behind him.

A muffled squeal tore from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Carlos lay in bed, wide awake. His mind mulled over the worst case scenario, that this transformation quietly continue to get worse until he lost everything. His voice, his mind, his humanity... He'd already lost his hands, a fate he'd barely begun to contend with. What else would he lose? His position, science, Cecil...

Cecil...

Cecil was taking this whole situation in stride, or at least he was as far as Carlos could tell. Maybe he really was okay with it or maybe this was torture and he just hid it so well, but what if things got worse? How long would Cecil be able to put up with this?

Arms wrapped around him from behind, a flat face nuzzling at the hair growing down his neck. Hands rubbed up and down his sides.

Carlos rolled onto his back to find a pair of violet eyes looking at him. “You're awake,” he said.

“I could say the same thing about you,” Cecil answered, tracing a finger along the ridge of Carlos' round nose.

Carlos wiggled his snout. The finger disappeared. He sighed. “Thinking too much,” he allowed.

“Always dangerous.”

“Cecil... will you...” Carlos took a deep breath. “Will you still love me... even if...” He couldn't say it.

Cecil kissed him as the words failed. He ran his fingers through Carlos' hair and along the edge of one floppy ear. “I will never stop loving you,” he promised.

“But how do you know?” Carlos asked. “I mean, what if...”

“Shhh...” Cecil pressed a finger to Carlos' snout, earning a confused snort in the process. “Let me finish. When you were gone, lost in the desert otherworld, I lost hope. I didn't know if you would ever make it home. I could hear you but I couldn't see you, I couldn't touch you. I didn't think you would ever come back to me. And then when you found out... When you realized you were just in the dog park, that there was just a wall between us, I was willing to give up Night Vale to be with you. Everything I've ever known is here and... you were more important than that. It doesn't matter to me where you are or what you are. You're my Carlos. And I love you.”

Carlos cuddled up to Cecil and sighed, nuzzling him. Nuzzling felt so much different now than it used to, better if he were honest with himself. He wanted to believe Cecil, he really did, and the evidence did match his statement, but Carlos had his own insecurities that got in the way of reality. He wanted to feel safe.

He wanted to feel like himself again.

Cecil was right, though, this was reminiscent of those first horrible days out in the desert otherworld. Constant aimless wandering, nothing making sense, eternal exhaustion, he didn't feel anything at all like himself then either. And then finding Kevin made it worse, like the universe was mocking him by providing this creature that looked so much like Cecil and yet... wasn't...

He just didn't want Cecil to ever feel that, like he was trapped with a Carlos that wasn't.

***

Morning came with a yawn and a stretch. Carlos found himself waking up on top of a slightly bony but altogether perfect pillow. He nuzzled this pillow, warm and delicately scented, before starting to fall back to sleep.

“Carloooos...”

Carlos ignored the plaintive call. Paying attention would mean getting up and getting up would involve losing his pillow that felt and sounded just like Cecil.

“Carlos, we're not under quarantine anymore, I've got to go to work...”

Carlos grunted softly, tiny deep oinks as he rubbed his face into his pillow to make it smell like him. Yeah, that's good... a Cecil pillow that smelled like the both of them. Perfect.

“Carlos I need to get up.”

Oinkoinkoinkoinkoink. Snort.

“Carlos, I warn you. I'm making bacon for breakfast if you don't let me up.”

“Rude,” Carlos grumbled before rolling off of Cecil back onto the bed. He snorted in annoyance before curling up in all the blankets.

“And you should think of getting back to the lab,” Cecil continued, deftly freeing himself from the bed. “You can't just spend all your time in bed anymore.”

“Wait... go out? In public? Like this?” Carlos sat up and gestured to himself.

To be fair, he was still mostly human. His ears and nose had changed and his hands and feet were lost to trotters. His tail was still cute, curly, and just slightly fuzzy on the end. He had more hair than he remembered and his teeth clicked uncomfortably but that was largely it.

“You look fine,” Cecil assured him. “You only have one head. And it's not like no one knows.”

“I blame you for that, by the way,” Carlos pouted. It didn't quite have the effect he wanted, instead it mostly bared his bottom tusks.

“I was merely doing my job,” Cecil said, looking way too serious for his statement. “It was in the public's best interests to learn of the cuteness of your tail.”

Carlos snorted.

“Regardless, you should be going back to work. After all, there is science to be done, right?”

Science to be done. Thus, Carlos found himself in the lab not an hour later, his labcoat fitting him all wrong. He'd lost weight from the flu and now the smell from Big Rico's was stronger than ever. Even through stuffed sinuses he felt like he could smell every ingredient.

“Hey, look who's back,” Rochelle said. “Good to see you're not pork yet.”

Carlos snorted at the 'yet' and glared at her.

“Sorry.” She didn't sound like she was sorry at all. “So Dave hadn't gotten his flu shot and is now down for the count. Or maybe he did and he still caught your flu. He doesn't have it nearly as bad as you, only a little suggestion around the ears, he should be fine in a few days. Anyway he's out sick. Rick is out in Radon Canyon, said the windstorm we had last night would make it safer. I don't know if he's collecting rocks or painting radioactive sunrises again.”

“Sandra's volunteering at the hospital,” Rochelle continued. “Personally I think she's trying to get as many different flu samples as she can. She's gotten swine, chicken, and spanish so far. Mohammed is tracking down previous victims of swine flu. Thus far he's found a biker gang, they call themselves the 'Hogs on Hogs.'”

Carlos groaned and gave her a deep 'are you kidding me' glare.

Rochelle giggled. “Mohammed figured you'd get a kick out of that,” she said. “He says they've got a biker bar somewhere in the barista district. They'd be willing to teach you to ride if the, ah, if you don't get all the way back to normal.”

“Thanks.” Carlos didn't feel particularly thankful. Mostly he felt unnerved and somewhat disappointed in such bad puns.

“Anytime,” Rochelle said, clearly realizing his discomfort and taking pride in it.

Carlos sat on a lab stool in front of his notebooks from the previous week. He clopped his trotters on the lab bench, idly wishing for his hands back. It didn't work. And the scent of Big Rico's was getting distracting.

“Rochelle, I'll be back in a bit,” he said. “I have **got** to get some food.”


	7. Chapter 7

Pizza.

Pizza was perhaps the most perfect food.

It didn't require forks or knives or spoons or any sort of utensils. Plates, sometimes. Hands, often. But not always hands!

Take this miracle, for instance. A bowl. Big Rico's still served pizza bowls on request. Big roasted tomatoes, wads of fresh (and aged) cheese, whatever vegetables one could want!

Take this pizza bowl, for example. It was a masterpiece with mushrooms, bell peppers, onions, apples, scorpions, fresh lizard meat, sausage of questionable content, and a few spare pizza crusts. It was a monster.

It was a custom order so Big Rico didn't question.

Never question a pizza order, that was his motto. Especially when the guy ordering had the look of a skinny pig. Pigs should never be skinny. It was like skinny chefs or skinny vultures.

At least that's what Big Rico muttered while fixing the order. Carlos didn't mind. He was too hungry to mind.

Which was why he was currently sitting at a booth snout-down in a bowl of pizza, oinking like there was no tomorrow.

It was unfortunate that this was when the lunch rush decided to arrive.

Carlos' ears followed the sounds around him, paying attention for him while he was busy with more important things. Ooo, apple...

The seat across from him dipped as someone sat down. Carlos' ears turned forward and then flicked in a friendly greeting.

“Ahem.”

Nope. Busy. Busy determining in a scientific manner why there weren't enough apples in his pizza bowl.

“Carlos?”

Wait... Wasn't he alone when he started eating? He sat up.

Old Woman Josie was giggling, politely trying to hide it behind one hand. Behind her stood a great tall figure with sweeping black wings and eternally all-seeing eyes. At least the angel wasn't laughing at him.

It took a moment for Carlos to realize why. Oh...

Sudden embarassment overtook him. Here he was, a civilized scientist, face-first in a bowl oinking like a pig. Tomato sauce caked his snout, a stewed tomato stuck the middle of his nose. Its color matching nicely with the blush that burned in his cheeks as his ears dropped in mortification that most of the line at the counter was looking his way.

“Don't you worry about that,” Josie said, patting one of his trotters in a grandmotherly way. “It's good to see you're eating again. Cecil's been worried about you with the flu and all.”

He could still feel eyes on him. And he could feel that tomato starting to come unstuck. He didn't realize he was sticking his tongue out and making faces to get at it until it was already in his mouth and Josie was laughing at him. “You've got a little schmutz right there,” she said, offering Carlos a stack of napkins from the dispenser. He cupped the wad in his trotters and rubbed his face in the lot.

By the time he looked up most of the eyes were back to their own business. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“'S nothing to be ashamed of,” Josie said, twirling an order ticket in her hand. “We all need to get over ourselves now and again and realize there's no harm in indulging a little. And Cecil's right, you do look pretty cute.” She reached over and grabbed his cheek, pinching it. “Though you're still a bit skinny from the whole flu thing.”

Carlos snorted.

Big Rico called a number while holding up a stack of half a dozen pizzas. Josie looked at her ticket before motioning for her angel to pick up the stack. “It's our mandatory visit,” she explained. “City Council is more than willing to ignore my friends here up until the pizza quota comes up.”

“Ah.” Carlos could still taste cheese and apples on his lips. He looked down. There was a big slice of apple right there stuck through a wad of cheese. Maybe if he, no, that wouldn't work...

“Glad to see you're feeling better,” Josie said, waving as she left. Carlos waved.

He cradled the bowl in his trotters and tried to daintily stick his face in it. That effort did not last long as he returned to snorting and oinking as he again forgot where he was.

***

“And he just kept feeding me!” Carlos shouted. He paced back and forth in front of Cecil as the man sat on the couch. The night's mandatory reality TV was on in the background, volume almost muted. Instead Cecil's attention was on more important things.

“He kept feeding you,” Cecil said, deadpanned.

“Yes! I ate my way through three bowls of pizza before I realized most of the lunch rush had come and gone. Big Rico just kept feeding me more and more and I didn't want to stop eating!” Carlos' arms waved as his ears flopped, trotters clicking on the floor. This was developing into a rather large rant given the events that caused it.

“Were you hungry?”

“I was starved,” Carlos admitted. “But that's not the point! There were people!”

Cecil leaned back in the couch cushions. “People.”

“There I was, in the front corner booth, Big Rico basically put me in the **window** , and he kept feeding me. In front of half the town. Cecil, half the town had to see me eating like, like a...” He couldn't say it.

“Like a pig?” Cecil could say it, though.

“Exactly!”

“And... did anyone say anything?”

Carlos' rant fell a bit off. Yes, plenty of people had said things. Usually they said how glad they were that he was feeling better but there were a few comments... “A lot of people kept telling me I was too skinny,” he admitted.

“Skinny.”

“Old Woman Josie said it, Big Rico said it, Diane Crayton said it, a whole flock of mute children said it and I'm not even sure **how** but yes, they all kept telling me I was too skinny.”

Cecil kept listening.

“And then when the lunch rush was finally over Big Rico came over and said he was glad I'd come by because a skinny pig is just wrong. But Cecil, I'm not a pig! I'm me. I'm still me, right?”

Cecil's veiled amusement suddenly dropped. Now the rant made sense. He got up and wrapped his arms around Carlos. “You couldn't be more you if you tried,” he said, murmuring the words into Carlos' neck. “There's no one more you than you.”

“But I don't feel like me.” Carlos pulled Cecil close, trying to feel something normal. “I can't even do science without my hands.”

Cecil held him close as Carlos sniffed between strange mournful keens. He waited until the noises quieted down, slowly running his hands up and down Carlos' spine. And then an idea hit.

“Hey Carlos, do scientists ever do tests on themselves?”

“Experimenting on oneself is a great and venerable institution in science,” Carlos admitted. The proud tone was somewhat muffled by the stuffy snout.

“I have an idea.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains science

“Eleven days after first symptoms.”

Carlos paced his lab, a pair of headphones looped oddly over his head. It allowed him to record his words without sitting still, a skill he did not at the moment have. Not with the smell of Big Rico's across the way and the sense of wrongness still itching at his mind.

“Cecil made the suggestion that I consider my transformation scientifically. To be honest, I was a bit preoccupied to consider that course of action. Therefore I will endeavor to begin by filling in the original parameters of the experiment and go over the current situation.”

Carlos took a deep breath. His computer was still recording wirelessly from his bluetooth headset. Good enough.

“Symptoms began eleven days ago with the standard flu-like symptoms. The first major wave of exhaustion hit just before the first transformative symptoms were noticed. As the change itself went unnoticed, it may be assumed that the bulk of the transformation occurred while I was unconscious. Corroboration with different flu victims will be necessary to confirm.

“There are a number of differences from the original baseline. First of all, there are of course the physical changes. The nose has elongated by just over three centimeters and been squashed against the face in a round porcine snout. The ears have shifted position, moving up the skull to the top of the temporal bone. They have grown, becoming somewhat rhomboidal in shape with a surface area of approximately 200 square centimeters. As expected, hearing has increased in sensitivity and sharpness, as well as range. A proper test has not yet been devised to give specific numbers.

“The hands and feet have been altered. The toes have fused together into two main hooves to form a trotter, though both dew claws are not present. In addition, the structure of the ball of the foot has not changed and the long plantar ligament feels overly stretched by this development. It is... uncomfortable but not painful enough to warrant action at the moment. The fingers have fused together, also into two main hooves, though the thumb remains intact, acting as a dew claw. The secondary dew claw is missing. The thumb nail has thickened and extended into the dew claw hoof, though it retains some of the flexibility of a human thumb. Tests are ongoing.

“The canine teeth have elongated into tusks and have been rubbing against each other. It is not entirely comfortable and quite loud when done accidentally. The sound reverberates through the facial bones. I may have to look into getting them trimmed if this continues.

“The oft-mentioned tail extends from the base of the coccyx. It is about nine inches long with a single curve that loops it greater than 400 degrees. The end has a tuft of hair that I am told is structurally similar to the hair on my head, which is no longer entirely confined to my head. Instead my hairline extends four inches down my spinal ridge in what I am told is described as a 'mane'.

“In addition to these rather... jarring physical effects, I have also lost 15 pounds in the past eleven days. While a significant amount of this weight loss must be due to the fact that I just had the flu, I speculate that the remained was used to produce the reaction mass and energy needed to physically transform the human body. After all, I am not a native of Night Vale and I have yet to see definitive evidence of this kind of catastrophic weight loss in native flu victims. Perhaps this is why people keep trying to feed me, in addition to the quality of 'cute' that I appear to have been assigned without my consent.”

He knew exactly why people called him cute. Cecil did it. It was the same reason everyone knew about the tail he was able to keep curled up in his pants. An annoyed fondness washed over him. Perhaps Cecil would be available for lunch...

“The need for food seems to be a powerful driving factor, especially as the majority of flu symptoms have faded. In addition my ability to handle large quantities of food has increased and my tastes have gone strange. Before this I never would have considered some of the taste combinations I now consider irresistible. Further testing may be necessary.

“On a related note, I do not feel I should eat alone until and unless these physical symptoms can be reversed. If left to my own devices who knows what I might do. Worse, I cannot eat alone in the presence of a cook. Such beings adore nothing more than watching someone enjoy their food and will actively resist attempts to get me to stop eating.”

Carlos sat on a lab stool, balanced so as not to sit on his tail. He tapped at his computer with a thumb, suddenly realizing he could still type. Perhaps Cecil had been right and his emotional involvement was getting in the way of accomplishment. He hummed in thought, the hum coming out as something like a long, low-pitched squeal.

He paused the recording. More testing was in order.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Carlos refused to eat at Jerry's Tacos.

It didn't matter what people said. It didn't matter that he could get beans and rice and cheese and salsa and other goodies all in a bowl for easy rooting. It didn't even matter that they were the only Mexican place in town.

Their enchiladas crunched.

The rest was not that much better.

Carlos had standards. When it came to Mexican food he had the utmost of standards. Many of those standards came from the nice men with the tamale carts where he went to college. Many more from his own cooking. None of those standards were met by Jerry or his crunchy enchiladas.

Which was why he was in the kitchen making a right hopeless mess.

To be fair, it had taken time to realize that he could hold a spoon by pinning it between his thumb and the palm of his hand. Then he had to figure out that can openers were not spoons, though tusks were a passable yet headache-inducing alternative. The problem was that once he had something open he couldn't close it again, not without fingers or fine manipulation.

Whatever.

Cecil would be home soon and then he could put things away. Well, those things Carlos didn't find himself snacking on while cooking. Thus he'd thrown together a dish of rice, beans, and chicken.

And of course Cecil had to stop at Jerry's Tacos on the way.

It was one of their tolerated differences. The compromise had been fierce. The end result was glorious.

One or the other would suggest Mexican for dinner. An agreement would be reached and Carlos would leave the lab early to begin the cooking. Cecil would stop by Jerry's Tacos for what might normally pass as the main dish: tacos, enchiladas, sometimes third-rate chile rellenos. Carlos would make the rest of the meal, often even dessert. Then the two would combine their spoils into a feast that often ended with several day's worth of leftovers.

Tonight was no exception.

Carlos heard the door open, ear turning to focus on the sound while the rest of him was concentrating on trying to stir. His thumbs were tired and sore, not used to this type of work. On the plus side, he'd never smelled anything quite like this before...

Cecil came in and hefted the bags onto the kitchen table. “I guess you did want to cook,” he said, disappointed. “I wasn't sure so I got some extra.”

Carlos caught the odd sawdusty scent of Jerry's beans. He wrinkled his snout at the stench. “And I'm glad I did,” he said. “I can smell what they put in there. Ick.”

“Well not all of us have the same... discerning tastes,” Cecil said.

Carlos could tell he was being teased. He finally turned to look, also to stick his tongue out at Cecil, only to see the amount of 'food' he'd brought home. “Are we feeding an army?” he asked.

“Why, do you have one?”

Carlos snorted. The table was buried under foil and plastic containers of dishes that mimicked tacos, flautas, chile verde, tamales, chile rellenos, rice and beans, and of course the infamous crunchy encheladas. He could smell the lot of them. “Are you sure that's enough?”

Cecil eyed the pots on the stove and the carnage of the kitchen. “I'm not sure,” he said. “Did  **you** make enough?”

Carlos grumbled only to blush as Cecil leaned in and rubbed his nose against Carlos'.

***

“Oof,” Cecil groaned, leaning back in his chair. Too much food...

Meanwhile, Carlos was somewhat busy. While the spoon was suitable for cooking it was not suitable for eating. First of all, his trotters were already tired from their previous exertion. Second, the spoon was simply too slow. Instead he found he somewhat preferred eating with his snout, using the spoon only when necessary to keep something from escaping.

“Mmmph. I still can't think of why...” Carlos swallowed and cleared his throat. “I still don't know why you got chile verde,” he said. “I mean, Jerry makes passable chile verde, it's hard for Jerry to mess that up given how long everything of his sits on the stove, but... really...”

“Hmm?” Cecil looked over at Carlos then back at the ceiling.

“It's made of pork. I dunno, I feel really weird eating it what with... yanno...”

“It's no one you know,” Cecil said.

“But that's not the point.”

“Isn't it?”

Carlos glared at Cecil.

“Don't go to any of Earl's barbeques then,” Cecil said. “He strives for authenticity in his flavors. And we all know why barbeque was invented.”

Carlos looked confused.

“He has all of his permits in order and everything,” Cecil elaborated. “Since the great charcoal shortage you need a permit to hold a barbeque. A real one, not those little grills.”

Carlos still looked confused.

Cecil sighed. “Barbeque was invented to cook people,” he said bluntly.

Carlos' ears shot up then back. “Oh.”

“As I said, it's no one you know. Unless that makes it more meaningful, then I'm sure we can find someone you know for Earl's next party.”

“No, that's okay,” Carlos said. Suddenly he'd lost his appetite.

 


	10. Chapter 10

“Sixteen days after first symptoms.”

Carlos sighed before shaking the headset off. He paused the recording. He didn't have enough for any sort of entry, at least nothing that seemed scientifically interesting. What he had was a rant about the eating habits of people in this town, a concern over the long term effects of cannibalism on humans, and a new strange fear that Earl would invite him and Cecil over for Thanksgiving this year. Carlos wasn't sure he could handle any sort of gathering at Earl's place for a while.

He leaned down on the lab bench and sighed, a deep rumbling huff that sounded like it came from something much bigger than he was. That sigh must have done something because he was feeling better. More relaxed, definitely better. His throat rumbled with contentment.

Only then did he notice why he felt good. There were fingers scratching behind his ears.

Wait, what?

He opened his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them, and looked over to see Mohammed scratching behind his ears. He gave the scientist a questioning look.

Mohammed pulled away. “Sorry,” he said. “You just looked like you needed it.”

Carlos flicked his ears. Truth be told that felt nice.

Mohammed handed over a tablet, placing it on the bench in front of Carlos. “Here's all my notes on other victims of transformative swine flu,” he said. “Though I'm not sure 'victims' is the right word. Take a look.”

Carlos poked around, finding he could manipulate the touchscreen with his thumbs. Good enough. “Thanks,” he said. “I will.”

Mohammed had taken detailed notes. There were short dossiers on several individuals, most of whom rode motorcycles. It turned out there was a reason for that beyond the inherent pun, motorcycles were easier to handle and operate with trotters than cars were. They also could be more easily altered for size differences. Hmm... Carlos had been noticing it was difficult to grasp the gear shift in his Prius...

These people were all trapped in various forms, from total transformation to less affected individuals such as himself. They all admitted to behavioral differences, one even had such problems his wife left him. They were generally large people, tall as well as wide, though not particularly fat. Big all around was the best descriptor Carlos could come up with as he scrolled through pictures and notes.

Carlos knew he should probably talk to one of them. Maybe gain some perspective. After all, if 'has to eat a lot and ride a motorcycle' was the worst many of these people had to deal with then perhaps he wasn't as bad off as he feared.

***

It took three trotters to get the Prius in gear. This was becoming both normal and intolerable. One trotter to hold the shift in place, one to stabilize, and a foot to do the actual shifting. Thankfully he drove an automatic and only really had to worry about putting it in reverse then drive then back to park. The motorcycle idea was looking more and more feasible by the minute.

Even more so as he watched a pig on a Vespa drive by.

He was on the far side of the barista district, near Larry Leroy's place out on the edge of town, across from a place subtly named 'The Pig Pen'.

He was trying to work up the nerve to get out of his car and go in, a nd then this pig rode by. They were completely transformed, or almost completely. So completely all they wore was a leather vest and helmet. And yet this pig deftly maneuvered the Vespa into the bar's parking lot, killed the engine, jumped off, and set the kickstand. The helmet stayed on, a custom thing that protected the ears and the snout. Then the pig walked into the bar.

Carlos glared at the traitorous gearshift of his Prius then incredulously at the Vespa. That...

That wasn't fair. Not fair at all.

He wanted one.

Bah.

He shook off his indignation and fumbled his way out of the car. That wasn't fair either, the almost graceful way this pig had just jumped off the motorcycle and waltzed right in while he had to wrestle with this annoying, human-handed, cage-like car thing....

Finally he was out and able to kick the door closed. The resulting dent felt good. He brushed off his lab coat, smoothing away the wrinkles of frustration before taking a steadying breath and walking inside.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting but it wasn't this.

Carlos wasn't expecting wood paneling and art by local artists on the walls. He wasn't expecting a kitchen in the corner staffed by a guy who looked completely human, a bar before him and an entire wall of what looked like cider bottles behind. There were doorways heading off to the back; he could hear a game of pool somewhere beyond one such door. Tables and chairs seemed altered and missing, replaced by low tables and piles of pillows. Silk, from what he could tell. Or maybe something else shiny. Fluffy looking, too.

And there was the pig on the Vespa he just saw. The pig was lounging on a big pillow as they slid off their biker helmet and shook out their ears. A pair of half-transformed women sat in the corner discussing one of their children. Two men, most of their humanity gone, were oinking at each other while one gnawed on a large stone that appeared to have been delivered same as drinks and food.

The bar had seats, two with steps leading up, but the only patron sitting there seemed to have no interest in drinking. Instead he was leaned halfway over the bar, watching with intent and giving 'advice' as the human, the cook, prepared an order.

The normality of the place struck Carlos as odder than the images his mind had conjured up. What was he expecting? A farmyard? Drunken bikers? A mud wrestling pit?

Actually, the chalkboard with today's specials did have the note 'Wednesday Mud Wrestling – clothing optional'.

“What can I do for y-- Carlos?!”

Carlos turned at the voice of shocked confusion. It was vaguely familiar. Behind him in a simple white shirt and black pants stood a woman holding a menu. She was completely human, which seemed incongruous. And she recognized him. To be fair, though, she looked almost like...

“Intern Melissa?”

“Please, I escaped the radio station with my life months ago,” Melissa said. “I see you've had swine flu. I hope you're not sick anymore?”

Carlos' ears drooping forward. “I'm not sick,” he allowed. “But no one knows if...”

“If it'll all go back to the way it was.”

Carlos nodded. He realized he was grinding his tusks together and stopped himself.

“That's fine,” she said. “I mean, you're not the only one. Most everyone who comes here had that moment. Me, I work here. It's useful for the staff to have hands, yanno? Pour beers, make food, handle towels, that sort of thing. C'mon, let me show you around.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Light flooded his eyes. Carlos huddled closer to the wall, blocking the terrible light with his knees as he curled into a tighter ball.

“Carlos?”

His ear twitched. Cecil. Cecil was the one to find him here in his old apartment above the science lab. The bed took up nearly half of the tiny studio, the rest taken by a desk, chair, and dresser. Once there had been a computer on that desk, clothes in the dresser, a closet with more than just spare lab coats collecting dust.

The room reeked of staleness, dust collecting on the trappings of a former life, a former hope, perhaps even a former ability to leave. A former normality that he'd never get back again. Gone.

Gone forever.

“Carlos! Rochelle said you were up here. Are... are you all right?”

Carlos shook his head, never lifting his eyes from the comforting darkness of his knees.

Cecil slid down the wall next to him. “Do you need to huddle?” Cecil asked.

Carlos leaned against his lover. An arm slipped over his shoulders and pulled him close.

“I think you might need to unfold a bit to huddle correctly,” Cecil said.

Carlos snorted, curling in tighter at the sound. The sound bothered him more now than before.

Cecil merely wrapped his arms around his ball of Carlos and held him, waiting patiently for the scientist to open up to him.

It did not take long as Carlos unfolded and snuggled into Cecil's embrace. Still his eyes were haunted and his ears down as hands gently stroked his hair.

“What am I?” Carlos asked, his voice barely over a whisper.

“Hmm?”

Carlos pulled away and looked up at Cecil. “What am I?” he repeated. “Am I human? Am I a pig? Am I even myself anymore? What am I, Cecil? Please, tell me...”

Cecil's purple eyes went wide then sad. “What happened?” he asked.

“I went somewhere today,” Carlos admitted. “I... I was welcomed there, they expected me. Melissa showed me around, they called her an attendant. I'd seen some of them before, but always in passing. I never knew..."

Cecil curled his hands in Carlos' hair, gently rubbing fingertips against his scalp.

“I never knew what it could be like to just give in and be like them. They were all so happy and, and graceful, and I'd never thought I could use that word to describe them but they **were**. They were graceful in their movements and their conversation and their acceptance, even when they were at their worst. And even that worst wasn't terrible, wasn't what I thought it would be.”

Carlos turned scared eyes up at Cecil's. “But I don't want to be one of them, Cecil, I want to be human again! Don't I?”

Comprehension lit up Cecil's eyes as they gazed down in adoration and understanding. “Oh Carlos...”

Carlos huddled close to Cecil. He wasn't sure anymore and that's what scared him the most. He wasn't sure if he wanted this all to go away or if he wanted to keep it all and just let himself  **be** like the other pigs or if he wanted to be stuck somewhere halfway in-between like he was now. He wanted science and he wanted Cecil and he wanted his life back but he also found himself wanting what the other pigs had, everything they had. He wanted that ease of self, that love of finery, that ability to just let it all go and enjoy himself for a moment, an eternity. He wanted what they had. He wanted what he used to be.

He wanted things to make sense.

“You want what you want,” Cecil said gently, as though trying to find the right words. “It can be many things all at once, things that don't make sense and don't seem to match at all. But they don't have to match, they don't have to fit together into one single note. Because, Carlos, my Carlos, you're so much more than a single note. You're a complex symphony of wants and needs and selves and science and everything. You don't have to just want one thing, you can want all of it and that's okay.”

“But I'm scared...”

“We're all scared. But we don't have to be, not all the time. Sometimes we can let go and just **be**. But not all the time.”

“But...” Carlos sniffled, rubbing his snout against Cecil's shirt. “But what if I can't stop?”

“I think you underestimate yourself.”

Carlos nodded, still rubbing his scent into Cecil's shirt. It felt good, marking him as owned. Bare skin would be better...

Wait, no... He wasn't a pig, he didn't need to scent anyone. But Cecil did smell good like this...

Carlos was so confused. He had to keep his own mouth open to prevent himself from grinding his tusks together.

“I have an idea,” Cecil said. “If you'd humor me. Perhaps we could get dinner...”

Carlos' ears pricked up. Pig or no, he was still a scientist and no scientist would ever turn down free food.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Carlos couldn't believe he'd agreed to this.

At least this time he wasn't alone. And he didn't have to be the one to drive.

Cecil pulled the car into the lot across from The Pig Pen, deftly maneuvering and handling it in a way that made Carlos growl at the unfairness of it all. It still wasn't fair.

Some of the same motorcycles were parked in the dust next to the building. Some were new. A couple more Vespas were in attendance. Carlos wasn't sure what that meant, other than the realization that the number of pigs going unnoticed in Night Vale was much higher than he'd suspected. He'd have to find out what and when it happened. Later, though, later when science became more important than this idea of Cecil's.

Carlos still wasn't sure why he'd agreed to this. Food was involved, he knew that. He'd always been susceptible to food bribes; most scientists were. It was a weakness of the field or perhaps a symptom of the student loans.

Still, now he had to deal with it.

Cecil kissed him, drawing him from his musings. “We're here,” he said.

Carlos nodded. “Are you sure we should do this?” he asked.

Cecil smiled and ran a hand through Carlos' hair. “I think so. I think you need to see for yourself that there's nothing wrong with letting yourself be for a little while.”

Carlos sighed and got out of the car.

Today was apparently an amateur night of some sort, dancing or stripping or something like that. Regardless, the result was a large woman with three bikini tops covering her six breasts while several men whooped and oinked and squealed at her movements. Large ears drooped demurely over her eyes, ears adorned with a feathered headdress and one rather confused snake. Her arms were draped in silks that flowed as she ran her trotters up and down her belly, much to the delight of her audience.

“Oh my,” Cecil said.

“Hey Carlos, welcome ba--” Melissa stopped dead as she saw who was with him. “You!”

“Intern Melissa?” Cecil asked. “I hadn't realized it was you. Will you be coming back to the radio?”

Melissa growled before grabbing Cecil by the lapels. “Hell no,” she snarled. “And nothing in or about this place makes it onto the radio, capisce?”

“What? Why not?”

Melissa let go of Cecil but didn't step back. “Do you know what happens when you anger a sounder of pigs? You live, for awhile. You live while the only sounds you hear are your own screams and the crunch of their tusks as they crack your bones. You are alive while they eat you raw.”

“Oh.”

“This doesn't go on the radio,” Melissa warned.

“Understood,” Cecil said.

“Melissa, he's here with me,” Carlos said. “I'll vouch for him if need be.”

Melissa nodded and headed to the back rooms.

Carlos let loose the breath he was holding as he started to shake. “I don't know if I can do this,” he said.

Cecil wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his neck. “Shhh, it's nothing,” he assured. “I get threats like that all the time. Sometimes they even happen.”

Carlos nodded, leaning into his embrace. He just needed a moment is all.

“Neat.” Cecil caught sight of the tiny kitchen and bar, leading Carlos over. “So what's this?” he asked.

Carlos allowed himself to be dragged. It was easier than resisting. “The actual kitchen's in the back,” he explained. “But a lot of those here like to watch and smell the cooking so Rand here cooks little things and tends bar. Hey, Rand.”

The cook Randall nodded. He was currently tending a pan of fruit. “Hi Carlos,” he said. “What can I get you today?”

Carlos laid his head on the bar and took a long sniff. Ahhhh... He could smell every chemical involved, from all the burning sugars to the cognac to the flavors of each individual ingredient. Wait, someone was talking to him? “Wha?”

Ooo, someone was holding a piece of fruit in front of his snout. It was a pear slice, still hot from the pan and dripping with syrup. He could smell the flavors that invaded it, turning it into something much more than a simple pear. He blew on it to cool it off before taking the offered bite. He oinked in contentment.

Wait, why was Cecil laughing at him?

Carlos glared at his boyfriend before realizing he was laid halfway across the bar being hand-fed by the bartender. He blushed and dropped back to the floor. Cecil's hands rubbing behind his ears helped, though.

“C'mon, you said you'd show me around,” Cecil said.

“Only because you bribed me with food,” Carlos grumbled. That grumble didn't sound nearly as annoyed as he wanted it to, not with those fantastic hands in his hair.

“And it was a perfectly valid bribe.”

A loud commotion broke their moment. Someone in the audience had just gotten kicked after getting a little too fresh with the dancer. A red cloven hoof-print blossomed on the side of his snout while he sulked off to nurse his pride and a few beers.

“Maybe I should show you around,” Carlos agreed.

Carlos took him back to the pool room with its two pool tables. A pair in biker leathers, one with a cigar in her snout, waved as they walked in. At first pool hadn't seemed like a game that could be played without hands but after a round the day before Carlos realized how much of an advantage trotters really were in this game. It was easier to guide the cue where he wanted it to go by aiming it between his hooves.

Another room seemed to be a gossip room. Or perhaps it was simply a family area as several sows, one nursing piglets, gave them both death glares until they left.

The kitchen was off limits, the only place that was. One hungry pig could be a disaster if they were to cut loose there and everyone knew it.

Finally Carlos led Cecil into a changing room with wood benches, lockers, towels, and a bell to summon an attendant. He didn't go any farther, stopping Cecil before he went through the waiting door.

“What?” Cecil asked. “What's back there?”

“I'd... just rather not,” Carlos said.

“What is it? Is it interesting?” Cecil pulled away and was through the door before Carlos could stop him.

Carlos cringed as he heard the shouts from within. “Hey! No clothes in here!”

Cecil came back out. “There's a mud wallow in there,” he said as though it were a normal occurrence.

“I know,” Carlos said.

“So why don't you want to?”

Carlos scowled at him.

“Why not?”

Carlos sat heavily on one of the benches. He kept scowling as Cecil folded gracefully on the one opposite him, looking very interested in his answer, an answer Carlos couldn't bring himself to voice.

Cecil's expression turned from one of expectation to one of determination as he made a decision, stood up, and started taking off his clothes.

“What... are you doing?” Carlos asked.

Cecil gave him a look and merely continued, stripping down to nothing. And then he walked in.

Carlos couldn't believe what had just happened. Didn't Cecil realize that mud was gross and icky and got stuck in places and and and...

He snorted to the empty room and yanked the door open.

“Hey! Clothes off!”

Carlos growled. It was just as he feared.

The wallow was not small, filling most of the room. Wooden benches ringed half the room like a sauna where he knew a pig might call for an attendant with a towel or food. The floor had wooden slats for a short distance, just enough to stand on around the walls of the room, before dropping off into a mixture of clay and water.

In the middle of it all sat Cecil, nude and smeared in mud while... wait...

On hell no.

Carlos snorted in challenge before being shouted at again. Fine. He stormed back into the changing area and stripped before storming back in.

A trio of pigs were hitting on his boyfriend.

Two were almost completely transformed, a boar and a sow who rubbed their snouts all over Cecil, scenting him. The third was a large man who had his trotters on Cecil's shoulders and was oinking softly in his ear.

Carlos stood on the wooden slats and snorted, stomping against the floor.

Cecil looked up, unashamed of his behavior in the slightest.

“Okay, you're right,” his 'suitor' admitted. “He could totally tell. I owe you a cider.” And then he backed off. Worse, the boar and sow both looked up and oinked a friendly hello at Carlos.

“You fight dirty,” Carlos growled, glowering at Cecil.

Cecil smiled easily, an evil glint in his eye. “No, this is fighting dirty.” He picked up a wad of mud and threw it at Carlos.

Carlos felt the splut against his chest. That... was...

He had no memory of what happened next. He would swear up and down he didn't know how it happened. All he knew was the fact that he was in the mud holding Cecil down while the man shrieked with laughter and pigs all around him egged him on. There were hands in his hair, mud in his trotters, he was filthy, there was a warm and wiggling Cecil beneath him, and it all felt amazingly _good_...

“I blame you,” Carlos said, pouting.

Cecil merely laid there, still laughing, still holding on to Carlos so he couldn't escape.

Carlos laid down on Cecil's chest. He could feel his curly tail wagging about, could feel the snouts rubbing his flanks in greeting, could feel the mud seeping into places it shouldn't be. And yet...

Carlos sighed, his sigh turning to a series of soft oinks. Okay so he was filthy and the shower afterward would be disgusting but for now this wasn't that bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Chapter 13 will be optional. Hella optional. I mean, unless you **want** Carlos/Cecil porn that has been far too researched for sanity's sake...
> 
> Because I am completely willing to write it to get it out of my head.
> 
> Did you know pigs have corkscrew penises?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains porn. Porn involving a piggy Carlos
> 
> This chapter is optional

“I need a shower,” Cecil said.

Carlos snorted at him. They both needed showers. The fine clay from the mud pit had not all come off so easily with the simple quick shower that was afforded to them at The Pig Pen. Cecil could feel it in between his toes, behind his ears, hiding in his butt crack, it was kind of awful. He could only imagine what Carlos was going through, though the scientist didn't seem to mind at all. At least his ears were up.

Cecil made his way to the bedroom and carefully stripped his clothes off before turning on the water in the shower. Warm water began to steam the room, fogging the glass and porcelain as he stepped in and groaned. This felt good. Much better than clinging cold mud, though there had certainly been advantages to that...

Also disadvantages. He wiped himself down with a wash cloth to get all of the clay out of his skin.

The steam dispersed. Cecil turned around to find Carlos there. “May I come in?” he asked.

Cecil pulled him in and slid the shower door closed. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself.”

Cecil nuzzled Carlos' snout as he brought the wash cloth against Carlos, gently rubbing him down. Cecil hesitated a moment as Carlos groaned a deep oink but his ears stayed up and his eyes had fallen closed so he continued, running hands and cloth down Carlos' limbs to gently massage his trotters.

“That feels good...” Carlos hummed.

Cecil reached a hand around to Carlos' tail. It was his favorite part of Carlos' transformation, cute and curly and it was just so easy to slide a finger or two down and make him...

Carlos gasped, arching against him.

Just like that. Cecil teased him, feather-touches against his opening, before moving on to run the washcloth against his belly.

Carlos nuzzled him, rubbing his face against Cecil. “You like that, don't you,” Cecil whispered into one large ear.

There was a glint in Carlos' eye that Cecil wasn't sure about. It scared him, it thrilled him.

He had just enough time to turn the water off before he was grabbed and carried off to the bedroom, dumped unceremoniously and soaking wet on the bed. “Carlos!” He wasn't sure if he was trying to sound indignant or eager. He was even less sure when Carlos crawled onto the bed, that same feral glint in his eyes.

It scared him. It excited him. Either way, he wanted more of it.

Cecil reached down and grabbed Carlos by the base of his ears, hauling him up for a kiss. Lips faltered against the unfamiliar before latching onto his lower lip to bite. Carlos groaned and tried to kiss back, rubbing his nose against Cecil's and against his cheek. “God, you smell amazing,” Carlos whispered.

Cecil laughed and nuzzled his nose against Carlos'. He tried to smell Carlos, could only smell the shower they both had.

Carlos pulled off and began to scent Cecil. Cecil felt nuzzling, arched into Carlos' snout as the scientist rubbed against him. “What do I smell like?” he asked.

Carlos paused while nosing Cecil's nipples. “You smell like you,” he said, a deep groan beneath his voice. “You smell like water, like fresh desert air and deep musty secrets, like the outside...” Carlos broke into a deep grin, tusks pronounced. “And I'm going to make you smell like me.”

Cecil chuckled, threading his fingers through Carlos' hair. Carlos dipped further down until he reached Cecil's belly, rubbing sensuously against the skin there. He oinked softly, low grunts as he looked up at Cecil through half-lidded eyes and nuzzled him. “I never realized how erotic your belly could be,” he purred. “I just wish it were a little bigger...”

“It could be,” Cecil allowed. Carlos groaned and rubbed his face against the soft skin, the soft hairs in an enticing line that went down, down to the best scent. He followed those hairs to Cecil's hard cock and licked it from base to tip.

Cecil gasped, gripping tighter at Carlos' hair. “More,” he pleaded.

Carlos grasped Cecil's legs and folded them back, giving him access to the best scents. He nuzzled Cecil's balls, laving them with his tongue, before coming back up to lap at the head of his cock and then back down to nuzzle.

Cecil whined with need. He needed more than this, let go of Carlo's hair to grasp at the sheets. And then...

“Cecil...”

Carlos looked up at him, nudging his cock with his snout. It was one of the stranger things Cecil had ever found this hot.

“I need you to prepare yourself... Do you think you can do that? For me?”

Cecil nodded, reaching to the nightstand for the bottle of lube.

Carlos watched as lubed fingers pressed into Cecil, watched as his face twisted in pleasure. His own cock strained at the sight, needing to do something. He leaned down to nuzzle and nudge Cecil's belly.

Cecil gasped and pulled his fingers out. He poured some more lube in his hand and reached down to slick up Carlos' erection.

Oh... Oh my...

“You feel different...”

He did feel different. Cecil could feel new ridges beneath the velvety skin, a twisting pattern that he suddenly found he needed to feel inside him. It pulsed large in his hand, heavy, his balls tight with need.

Suddenly exploration was ceased as Carlos grunted at him, eyes wild as he grabbed Cecil's legs and flipped him on his back. He brushed his cock against Cecil's slick opening before pressing inside.

Cecil arched back and moaned. It was big, big and full and he wasn't sure if he could take it as it pressed deeper into him than fingers could ever go, rocking back and forth, deeper and deeper. He could feel each ridge as it slid into him, teasing him, twisting against his prostate. And then it pulled out and pushed back in and Cecil wrapped his legs around Carlos, urging him deeper even as hooved trotters grasped his ass and squeezed.

Cecil could feel every ridge as Carlos pounded into him, moaned at a stretch he hadn't felt in ages. He pushed back against Carlos, meeting him for every thrust. He could feel the pleasure building in him, his cock demanding attention as it stood in its nest of curls.

Carlos arched back and roared as his thrusts grew erratic and he began to cum. He gasped and kept thrusting.

Cecil could feel hot cum flooding his insides. He gasped and wiggled, reaching with a slick hand to his own erection, pumping it in time to the pulses he could feel inside him.

Carlos groaned, pressing as deep inside as he could, still thrusting even as he kept cumming. He vaguely wondered how long it would last before another pulse overtook him and he lost thought again.

“More,” Cecil pleaded. “Carloooos...” He was so close, he just needed something...

Carlos gripped Cecil's ass tight and thrust deep into him, pounding his ass as it filled with cum, as cum leaked out of him and ran down them both in dense rivulets. That was what Cecil needed, screaming his orgasm as his ass squeezed Carlos tight, drew a loud snarl from him as he kept trying to thrust.

Cecil fell back to the bed, the few pearly lines of cum on his belly feeling inadequate as Carlos pulled out amidst a gush of cum and fullness. He flopped down next to Cecil, his erection still flagging down as small spurts spat from the tip to pool on his own belly. They both gasped for air through the dense scent of musk and male.

“That was...” Cecil was at a loss for words as Carlos nuzzled him, audibly sniffing and oinking at the strong scent all over Cecil. His tail wiggled, wagging like a boar's tail.

“Amazing...” Carlos supplied. “You smell amazing...”

“I smell? I smell?! Carlos! I had no idea you could cum like that!”

Carlos blushed. “I, ah, don't think this is a human thing. At least I've never done it before.”

Cecil had to laugh. He also needed to shower again but he was too tired at the moment. Also sore. And his ass was full of cum and he wasn't sure he wanted to lose that feeling. He set his phone's alarm for an early start the next morning so he could get that shower. “Well I think it's fantastic,” Cecil said. “Masters of us all, Carlos. We need to do this often. But afterward I need a shower. Badly. I cannot smell good right now.”

Carlos oinked in partial agreement even as he drew his trotters through the cum on his belly. It had an interesting smell. He liked the smell, though he liked it much more when mixed with Cecil's scent. A lot more.

Cecil wrapped his arms around Carlos and hummed in pleasure before shivering. Right. He reached down and dragged the blankets over them both.

Carlos rumbled his contentment as Cecil fell asleep. But this 'shower' thing would not stand. He reached over and turned Cecil's alarm off.


	14. Chapter 14

Cecil awoke to the scent of eggs wafting from the kitchen, the sensation of languid stretching, the gentle burn of a night well spent, and the sudden realization that he'd slept in almost two hours. He bolted out of bed, frantically grabbing for any clothes he could find, a pencil skirt and one of Carlos' flannel shirts. He hopped down the hallway, shoving mismatched shoes onto his feet as he cursed not having time to shave his legs in the...

Shit, he didn't have time for a shower. He was interviewing Earl today for the Thanksgiving dinner special and he needed to be there to supervise the delivery of an oven and food prep and everything that needed to start happening half an hour ago! What if it didn't get done in time for the broadcast? What would station management do?

Cecil hopped past the kitchen, bouncing off a wall as Carlos watched, a wooden spoon held awkwardly in one trotter. Cecil ran past, shoes finally on, mouthing a lightning-quick kiss in Carlos' general direction, and leaping out the door.

And then he remembered setting an alarm. Cecil stormed back into the apartment, fixing Carlos with a glare and an accusing finger. Carlos responded by kissing him lightly then nuzzling his neck.

“You're going to be late,” Carlos warned.

“You did this,” Cecil accused. “I don't even have time for a shower! Do you have any idea what I smell like?!”

Carlos sniffed him audibly. “You smell absolutely perfect.”

Cecil's fury deflated to a low simmer. This wasn't helping. “I blame you,” he snapped before storming off.

Once in his car Cecil quickly searched the glove compartment for emergency deodorant. Damn. Nothing. Not unless he wanted to smell like transmission fluid. He considered it for half a second before tossing it behind him and just driving to the station. Maybe nobody would notice.

*****

Carlos, Cecil decided, is sleeping on the couch.

At first it was an intern, the very one who had bled a little too much on the door and was now in the break room holding down a couch. That brave intern who let Earl in and took delivery of the rental oven, thus saving Cecil's hide from station management, was now relegated to holding down a couch that otherwise would be marauding around the station looking for loose change and pocket lint to feed on. Cecil could hear the intern sniffing at the air when Cecil came in for coffee, the blessed coffee he didn't have time for this morning, then fled.

Next it was Shaun, or one of them, popping his head out of the office in curiosity. A quick glare put him back.

Even station management seemed interested, the odd scratching and groaning replaced with a strange snuffling.

Cecil's face burned hot as he secluded himself in his recording booth. Surely he would be safe here.

Oh. Right.

“Hey, Earl,” Cecil said as he remembered he didn't get his booth to himself today. “Sorry I'm late, there was this thing...”

“Cecil, do you smell mushrooms?” Earl asked.

Cecil tried not to groan, putting on a carefully neutral tone. “Mushrooms?”

“Yeah, it smells like truffles,” Earl added. He sniffed the air.

“Truffles.” Carlos was going to be sleeping on the couch for a week. Also, what? “Why would I smell like truffles?” Cecil cringed as he realized what he said.

Earl came over and sniffed him. “It **is** you,” he said. “How on earth would you...” A look of realization crossed Earl's face. “Oh for fuck's sake, Cecil, you're supposed to take a shower after.”

“Carlos turned my alarm off! That sneaky pig wanted me to smell like this.” Cecil scowled. “The couch is too good for him. That's it, Carlos is sleeping with the dog.”

Earl snorted as he tried to hold in a laugh.

Cecil glared at him.

“It could be worse,” Earl teased. “He could have gotten dog flu.”

“Not helping.” Cecil pouted.

*****

[78 - Cooking Stuff: Thanksgiving Special](http://podbay.fm/show/536258179/e/1447563600?autostart=1)

*****

“Cecil, were you serious?” Earl asked. “About me and Roger. For Thanksgiving.”

“Of course,” Cecil said. “We'll have turkey and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and despite what I said I am making Carlos do all of the cooking because really.”

Earl smiled despite himself. “Just... don't do mushroom gravy.”

Cecil opened his mouth to respond when suddenly he realized and blushed a deep red.

“I don't think I could keep a straight face if you did!” Earl couldn't help it as a stream of laughter fell from him, echoing around the still-smoking recording booth.

Cecil threw a wad of paper at him.


	15. Chapter 15

It was worth it.

The results involved sleeping on the couch and being pouted at every time he tried to nuzzle, but it was worth it.

Now all Carlos had to do was convince Cecil to do it again. And to let him off the couch.

That second one might be more straightforward, but it was not turning out to be easy. Thus far, Cecil's terms involved hunting a turkey, which in Night Valean standards included hooves? Carlos had a description, a feathered monster with six hooves, four tiny wings, an empty head, and a big imaginary tail that stood up out of the scrub like a flag. Great, now all Carlos had to do was find an invisible imaginary tail sticking up and waving against the wind. No problem.

Except for the invisible part. And the gun. Carlos hadn't even brought the weapons Cecil supplied him with, they all had handles or triggers or other fine finger-using parts. Except the grenades, but turkey hash was meant for the days after Thanksgiving. That left Carlos stalking through the scrublands in his camouflage lab coat, searching for something that by all rights shouldn't exist.

It wasn't working.

Wait... What was that? Something moving through the scrub? Carlos crouched down and waited, sniffing at the air. It smelled like something alive, it smelled feathery, it smelled stupid. It smelled like a turkey.

An empty head popped out of the scrub and shrieked like the sound of stones against glass.

Indeed a turkey. Carlos crept closer, trotters silent as his lab coat billowed ominously. The turkey turned and ran, flapping its four tiny wings.

Damn it. Carlos stood up, looking fairly foolish trying to hunt with such an obvious tell. Besides, he figured fall deciduous was a poor color choice for a desert hunt. He decided to detour past the car before trying again.

***

Now this was better.

Shirt and labcoat stayed behind in the car, even Carlos' undershirt was lost somewhere in transit. Instead Carlos was busy rolling in the dusty sand of the open desert. And he didn't feel silly in the slightest.

Well, maybe he did. But this would work! Scientifically it would work. The dust would keep the sun off of him and cut down on his scent so as not to warn the turkey. All he wore was a well-used pair of lab jeans, jeans that after years worth of chemical spills he could move in, could poke his tail out of, and could run in. He remembered the turkey's scent so all he had to do now was find another one.

Carlos prowled the desert, sniffing and snorting to root out the smell of strange hoofed bird.

He could smell something faint, something stupid. He followed the smell, ears up to pick out the sound of feathers moving around the scrub.

There.

Carlos crouched down, trotters crunching on the sand as he moved. An empty head with mismatched lolling eyes popped up, a tongue hanging down one side of its beak. It shrieked and crossed its eyes again before hanging its tongue out the other side of its beak. Tiny wings flapped in a display of turkey-ness.

It was too stupid to know what hit it.

***

Cecil looked up calmly from the easy chair in which he sat, a book open in his lap. It was an upside-down book on the evils of time travel paradoxes, but it was a book so it lent him an air of detachment. He was still pretending to be angry at Carlos, mostly to see just how far the scientist would go to acquire the one thing Cecil had asked for. The Thanksgiving turkey.

Cecil just didn't want to be bothered with hunting the thing. Once the Ralphs had stocked turkeys around this time but they stopped some years ago. No one knew why. Besides, Cecil figured it would give Carlos the chance to head out into the scrublands and do piggy things like... whatever pigs did. Cecil wasn't too sure about these things.

The sounds outside grew more violent. Cecil cringed at what he knew Carlos was doing to that poor car. Regardless, he had an air to maintain. He looked vaguely unimpressed as the door opened.

That detached look faded almost immediately. But then, really... “Carlos, where are your clothes?”

Carlos looked down at himself. “I'm wearing pants,” he defended.

“Barely,” Cecil conceded. They were those lab pants that were more strings than pants. And Carlos was dragging a corpse. “Is that...”

Carlos grinned, tusks still streaked red with blood as he hoisted the dead turkey onto the kitchen table. Its neck was mangled and snapped, its head barely attached.

Cecil couldn't believe it. “Did you... kill it with your teeth?” he asked quietly. “For me?”

Carlos nodded, grin falling to embarrassment.

Cecil squeed and threw himself into Carlos' dusty arms. “Oh you killed it with your teeth just for me! Carlos, that's so romantic.” He laughed gleefully and kissed his Carlos, tasting the turkey's blood on his lips. “No one's ever done that for me before! Awww...”

Carlos blushed. The color matched well with his blood stained tusks. “Well, I couldn't get any of the weapons to work and I thought, um...” He nuzzled Cecil's neck.

“And it looks like you shook it back and forth to kill it, oh how savage,” Cecil cooed. “It's wonderful. Let's clean it right now!”

“Here?”

“Right here!” Cecil kissed Carlos square on the snout and pulled a very large knife out of a drawer. “It'll be fun. I'll even let you lick the knife after we're done, if you want...”

“I'd rather lick something else,” Carlos purred, nuzzling up behind Cecil.

Cecil leaned back and wiggled, deliriously happy. 


	16. Chapter 16

Oinkoinkoinkoink.

Oinkoinkoinkoinkoinkoinkoink.

The main downside to making Carlos do the cooking was sitting right next to Cecil. Steve. Steve Carlsberg took up most of the couch with his football-watching and his cheering for all the teams involved and his talking. And yet there was a nagging feeling in the back of Cecil's mind that something else was wrong. Perhaps it had something to do with the contented oinking that drifted from the kitchen. It almost sounded like...

“I'm going to check on Carlos,” Cecil said, removing himself from the periodic headlock Steve's arm-waving caused. He got up and hid in the kitchen.

His first thought was that it was a good thing he had.

The turkey was already in the oven in some strange configuration Carlos insisted on, stuffed with sweet onions and apples, roasting at some absurdly low temperature Carlos had called 'sane'. A pot of potatoes sat on the stove, peeled and sitting in water awaiting the right time for some absurd 'cooking', as if mashed potatoes needed to be cooked. Strange gray things were in the midst of preparation as Carlos stood with a can stuck on his snout.

“Carlos, really,” Cecil said, too exasperated to properly scold.

Carlos looked up, ears flicking forward in greeting.

“The cranberry sauce is for dinner, not just for you.”

The can wiggled as Carlos snorted, trying to shake it off. It seemed stuck.

Cecil rolled his eyes and grabbed the can. Carlos pulled, popping his snout from its cranberry prison. Its tasty tasty prison. He wiggled his snout, his nose, his jaw, not caring that his face was stained red with cranberry sauce. “Do you have any idea how few cans of this stuff we need for tonight?” Carlos countered. “One or two aren't going to make a difference.”

Cecil glared. His glared grew even more as Carlos shoved a plate in his hands and told him to offer its contents as a pre-meal snack.

Mushrooms.

Cecil glared down at the mushrooms, caps stuffed with something unidentifiable and topped with something white and gooey. He glared back at Carlos. “You did this on purpose,” he accused.

Carlos pressed his nose against Cecil's cheek, leaving a red nose-print. He then picked one of the stuffed mushrooms up and pressed it to Cecil's lips. “Just try it,” he purred. “For me?”

Cecil sighed and ate the stuffed mushroom. He tasted mushroom, sausage, cheese, completely normal tasting things. His glare softened. “You're still horrible,” he said, mouth full.

“I know,” Carlos purred, his tail swishing. “That's why you love me.”

Cecil hummed, took a deep breath, and walked out with a plate of stuffed mushrooms and a blood red nose-print on his cheek.

The startled jolt from Steve Carlsberg made it worth it.

***

The doorbell rang.

Carlos flicked his ears and went to open the door. He knew Cecil had invited Earl and Roger but it was getting on into mid-afternoon and no one was sure...

It was them. Carlos wrestled the door open.

He was a sight for the unprepared. Snout awash up to the eyes in red that threatened to drip in great red drops. An apron that did little to shield him from splatters of blood, water, cranberry, and various other stains. Ears forward, tusks streaked red, trotters splayed.

Roger hid behind Earl.

“Tell me you killed the turkey earlier than this,” Earl said, pleading dully.

“Oh, yeah, that was two days ago,” Carlos assured. “This isn't turkey this is something else.”

“CARLOS!”

Carlos cringed at the annoyed shout from within. He gestured for Earl and Roger to come in just as Cecil came storming over with another demolished can of cranberry sauce. “Carlos if you keep eating these we won't have any left for dinner! Earl! Roger! Glad you could come!”

Carlos was sometimes still amazed at how completely Cecil could change tone, volume, emotion even mid-sentence.

“The turkey's in the oven and Carlos is making all sorts of strange dishes even stranger than the ones you showed me.”

Carlos snuck away, or tried to as he felt a hand grab at the mane on his neck. Ow.

“Tell him about it, Carlos, while I hide the cans of cranberry sauce.”

Carlos stuck his tongue out at Cecil's retreating form. He felt a finger slide across his snout and turned to see Roger with that finger in his mouth. Roger nodded in something akin to approval before walking inside without a word.

Earl looked expectant and skeptical, a chef facing down the lay-cook who is about to be judged inferior due to politics rather than skill.

“I made stuffed mushrooms,” Carlos purred. “With parmesan and fontina. You should try some.”

Earl made a strangled noise before glaring. Carlos merely oinked soft laughter as he returned to the kitchen.

***

Earl watched in odd fascination as Carlos cooked, at how he had adapted the pig's trotters to human utensils, at how he sniffed at everything instead of the more acceptable tasting, at how he called upon Cecil for various tasks whenever he could sense Steve was getting grabby. Earl had no idea Steve Carlsberg was such a hugger.

At the moment Cecil was in the kitchen running a wet washcloth over Carlos' hooves, the ones on his hands.

“You know, you've done enough today,” Earl said diplomatically. “Why don't you let me mash the potatoes.”

“Nonsense,” Cecil said. “You've done more than enough yourself.”

“You had me guarding the cans of cranberry against swine invasion.” Earl said deadpanned. Carlos snorted.

“And that is a most important job,” Cecil insisted. “You also kept Steve busy, a most arduous task.”

“Go watch football,” Carlos insisted. “You and Steve can show Roger and Janice the illegal end zone dances. I'm sure they'd like that. The funky chicken, the high-knee hop, the shipoopi, I'm sure you know more.”

Earl had no idea what any of those words meant.

“Go spend time with Roger,” Cecil whispered before declaring Carlos clean enough.

Defeat had to be conceded. Earl sighed and made his way back out into the living room where Steve, Abigail, Janice, and Roger all clustered around the TV. He sat next to Steve, almost expecting the arm that wrapped around his neck and held him in a headlock.

Steve was definitely a hugger. And then some.

***

Thanksgiving dinner was strange.

Strange was the best word to describe it. The turkey tasted like meat instead of dry char, a different flavor than was expected for turkey. A corn bread stuffing tasted like cornbread and vegetables, not like turkey toxins or newspaper. The mashed potatoes had a different flavor, one Carlos gleefully revealed to be roasted garlic. Since when could garlic be roasted? The cranberry sauce had strange red berries embedded in the red gel, berries described as 'cranberries' despite everybody knowing cranberries were a myth used to explain the fully-formed cans of red gel on the Ralphs shelf. The gravy had pieces of turkey meat and giblets that had Cecil pointing at Earl with glee and a massive 'HA!' A few leftover stuffed mushrooms with melted white cheeses adorned various dishes.

All in all it was strange. But even Earl had to admit, pigs knew how to do feasts right.

“I saved the turkey hooves for pozole,” Carlos was saying as Cecil served. “Normally you use pig hooves but that's a no for so many reasons.”

“I thought you used human sacrifices for pozole,” Earl said.

“It used to be, yes,” Carlos admitted. “But that was before the conquistadors put a stop to it. Pigs feet replaced the person since it tastes about the same.”

“It didn't stop everywhere.”

Carlos' ears fell and he gave Earl a worried look. Earl's sly grin didn't waver even as he bit into a stuffed mushroom.

Cecil glared at them both, trying to put a stop to anything before it started.

“Though I admit I've never had pozole with pig before,” Earl continued, still with that contemplative voice as he looked Carlos up and down, appraising him. “I've never had the chance.”

Carlos gulped, ears flat down.

“Earl,” Cecil warned.

Earl dragged his fork through his mashed potatoes and gravy. “But then this is a swine flu year, who knows what will happen?” Earl licked his fork clean, all the while watching Carlos as he did.

Carlos shrank down, almost hiding under the table. Cecil looked ready to do something rash when...

“Earl, you're not going to eat Uncle Carlos are you?” Janice asked. “Please don't. I like him alive.”

“As do I,” Cecil agreed. “Earl is just teasing him, aren't you Earl?” He fixed Earl with a heavy glare.

Earl pouted. “Yes,” he said in a voice that clearly implied otherwise.

“There now,” Cecil said. “We should eat up, we don't want to be late to our grovelling before the Brown Stone Spire.”

Janice nodded and ate her turkey while Steve took it upon himself to try to make Carlos feel better with a headlock and ear scritchies. It almost worked.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the holiday is over I have time again. Also I finally wrote an outline for this story.

Carlos lay on silk and satin, snout shoved into a pillow, his ears twitching in time with his thoughts. His eyes drifted closed, blocking out the sight of attendants serving bowls of steaming hot cider, the pigs around him, the dining room of The Pig Pen. He wasn't even sure why he was here, all he knew was he needed to feel something.

Thus far he was doing fairly well at feeling the floor through the pillows below him.

When someone sat down next to him he snorted and rolled over, facing away from them. “I'm not very good company today,” he mumbled into the pillows.

He could feel someone's trotter gently mussing his hair, stroking all down his mane. He knew he should feel put upon, that someone was taking advantage of his position and situation to... rub behind his ears... but... rubbing behind his ears... Carlos shook his head before rolling back over to look up at them.

She was a large female, big belly matching her big hips. Her snout twitched delicately and her ears folded demurely over her eyes. Brown hair flowed down her spine in a mane, only barely covered by the dress she wore that left little to the imagination. “Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, hun,” she purred, continuing to pet him.

“I dunno...” Carlos sighed. “It's... I just... I've never been made to feel like an outsider before.” As soon as he said it, the rest came out without prompting. “I mean, I know I am. I'm not from Night Vale. I still have family outside, a sister I haven't seen in years, parents I don't agree with, an abuela who's funeral I missed. There are things I was supposed to do outside.”

“But you're here.”

“But I'm here,” Carlos agreed. “And I know I can't leave. Time doesn't work right, not now, not ever, especially not here. Worse, I can't leave looking like this; outside of Night Vale swine flu is just a normal flu that kills people. Everyone's human outside of Night Vale, completely human or at least they look like it. I'd be hunted down or put in a circus or worse.

“But here... I'm normal here,” Carlos continued. “At least, I thought I was.”

“What happened?”

Carlos felt movement, felt himself being guided into laying his head in her lap. He snorted, allowing it. “Cecil had his family and friends over for Thanksgiving and... well...”

“It didn't feel right?”

“I did most of the cooking because if I let Cecil do it we wouldn't have food,” Carlos said. “Earl's a chef and you know how chefs get when someone else is doing the cooking, especially if you're not doing it their way.”

“As bad as pigs, I hear.”

Carlos ignored the completely understandable implication, changing the subject slightly. “Have you ever had anyone say they want to eat you?”

“Oh, now and then. Wait, do you mean actual eating?”

Carlos's ears twitched and he blushed as her meaning. “Yes I mean actual eating,” he mumbled.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, sure, whenever I walk past Tourniquet. They're always after exotic meats but they know better than to do anything about it. Something about unwilling cannibalism being illegal. But they do it anyway. It's like catcalls at a construction site, yanno?”

“Isn't it disturbing?” Carlos shuddered.

“Nah, you get used to it. Besides, they don't mean it. I know, I dared one of 'em to try it and he ran off like a little piglet. It's all bluster if you ask me.”

Carlos hummed in thought. He hadn't even considered that Earl didn't expect to be taken seriously.

“I think it's a chef's way of flirting,” she continued. “Like how boars can't resist a big belly or librarians adore a first edition anything or like Cecil and your hair.”

Carlos blushed.

“I bet he likes that mane you got going on there. It's grown halfway down your back.”

“What?” Carlos sat up and tried to reach down his shirt behind him to tug on hairs that had indeed spread down the line of his spine. “Oh god it's getting bigger...”

A trotter ruffled his hair. “It looks good on you,” she said.

Carlos snorted, mumbling something about gossip and 'worse than Cecil'.

“C'mon, let me get you a cider,” she said. “On me.”

“I don't even know your name.” Carlos hoisted himself to his feet and helped her up.

“I'm Selene,” she said. “I run this joint.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Carlos said. “And thanks.”

Selene oinked plaintively. “We've all been there,” she said. “It's good to get past it.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short.
> 
> Also, contains science.

“Thirty three days since first symptoms.”

“I have met some of the other... the other pigs here in Night Vale.” Carlos couldn't call them victims anymore, not after everything that'd happened. Not even as he shifted the headphones on his head, thinking unkind words about their lack of a comfortable fit. “The Pig Pen, the bar on the edge of town, is run by the female I had assumed was some sort of amateur dancer. She displays the common signs of swine flu without having succumbed to the full transformation. In fact, though I do not have enough data points for a definitive statistical analysis, my observations would suggest that one third of those afflicted end up in a near-total transformation.”

Carlos looked down at his own hands, the hooves beginning to look oddly overgrown. “I won't know until my six weeks are up if I'm to be trapped like this permanently. And even then, six weeks is merely the minimum amount of time. It might take longer.” He paused for a moment as he checked his trotters, hands and feet. Hmmm. Perhaps that's why his feet felt odd? “In the meantime I may need to find someone willing to give my hooves a trim. They seem to be overgrown. It is not... comfortable.

“Dave has returned to work,” he continued. “His symptoms have receded completely, allowing him a full recovery. Bastard.”

Dave stuck his tongue out at Carlos from across the lab. Carlos waved him off.

“Sandra has obtained samples from every obvious flu type that seems to be circulating this year. She's also obtained information on the history of each strain. The current strain of swine flu is not the first but it is the most recent. It seems to have first entered Night Vale in the late spring of 2008, one year before the H1N1 pandemic was declared. This makes some sense as time in Night Vale is only vaguely correlated to time in the outside world. In addition, I have seen the CDC data on flu deaths and there is evidence that the H1N1 virus had begun its spread a full year before it was announced. Regardless, I received my H1N1 vaccination when it was made available and yet I still caught this swine flu. If there is a connection between the two viruses it is tenuous at best.

“Damn it, Night Vale. Can't make anything easy, can you?

“Selene, the proprietor of the Pig Pen, has brought several cultural differences to my attention. I should have figured out on my own that a town that issues licenses for the practice of cannibalism would have incorporated such acts into everyday conversation, including flirting. I shall have to ask Cecil about this, as he tends not to tell me those things he considers common knowledge or those things he feels I would find distasteful if I knew. I am a scientist, it's my job to know things. Well, maybe not plant things, I'm not a botanist."

Carlos turned off the recording software. All data was potentially important but his notes were beginning to sound more like a diary. Much like many of his other notebooks. It often happened when the scientist had to experiment on themselves.

He'd talk to Cecil tonight about this. Maybe he would cook, too, something to prime the conversation. Yes, that sounded good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> When I began writing this I had the flu. Because I haven't gotten my flu shot yet. The irony was inescapable.
> 
> Also, given I had swine flu in 2009 I not only have the right (and sacred duty) to make these puns but I have a breadth of experience to draw upon.


End file.
